Empire On Fire {closed}

The sun that set over the mountains stained the landscape red. It seemed as if a massive fire was eating up the cliffs and jagged peaks of this foreign terrain, stark in contrast from the flood that had ruined the forest. Finchstar's wounds had scabbed over, some which were certain to leave scars. He watched as his clanmates flattened out their nests, curling about beneath the cave, preparing for sleep. Stoneteller had been kind to let both WindClan and SkyClan stay for the time being. A few of the healthy warriors, as well as himself, took time to hunt, as compensation for her graciousness. Finchstar narrowed his yellow eyes as he remembered groveling at her feet. Humility wasn't the part that bothered the young leader, if anything Stoneteller deserved even more respect than he had given. It was the judgement he felt from the other three clans, like claws scorching his pelt. It wasn't worth an argument, no. But the sting of defeat, being driven away by the dogs, that hurt the worst.

The leader sat on a ledge outside the cave where his clanmates slept, watching as sunfire burned the landscape below. The fuzzy cones of pine trees stuck out like a flame, making the world seem even more surreal than it had originally. Finchstar let out a long sigh, curling his ginger and white tabby tail around his paws. The mountains were bitter cold, and hadn't yet been graced by the warmth of Newleaf. His lifeblood was somewhere out there, Brookclover. It was almost a physical pain that tore at Finchstar's heart. Her name seemed to claw at his resolve, and all the emotions came spilling out. He sniffed, knowing that if WindClan didn't rely on him as they did, then he would go and find her in a heartbeat. Leadership was no easy task. The tom felt torn, loving both his clan and mate with such ferocity, it hurt. But he knew deep down which came first, admitting it was a different matter entirely. But it was her, it was always her. But she would want Finchstar to stay with WindClan, so with WindClan he would stay.

The soft pad of paws sounded behind the leader, and Finchstar turned around to gaze at Aspenpaw, his apprentice. The tom was in fact, not much younger than Finchstar himself. Had circumstances been different, the ginger and white tabby could be standing by his apprentice today, still a young warrior. It seemed strange now how torn apart they were by responsibilities. Only separated by a few moons, one a pupil, and one a leader. But Finchstar never wanted to feel superior. Yes, he would admit, leadership was empowering. But if his title tore him away from his friends and clanmates, then he had already failed as a leader.

"Coming to watch the sunset as well?" His voice was casual, as if speaking to an old friend. It was true, Aspenpaw and Finchstar had been through a lot, he remembered first showing the tom Outlook Rock. And now here they were, dancing amongst the mountains. "I do have to admit, it is very beautiful..." His voice trailed off as the sun finally tucked itself away, leaving the sky in a wonderful blue hue. He wished to curl up next to Brookclover, breathe in her scent, feel the tickle of her fur. Loneliness tugged at his chest, and Finchstar felt the sharp pang of sadness. "What do you suggest we do now?" He asked to Aspenpaw, voice breathy and emotional. It was a strange question for a leader to ask an apprentice, but Finchstar was no ordinary leader.

Dreams of sharp teeth and great wails filled his dreams as Aspenpaw rolled around in his nest. Between his head injury from the dog attack and the monstrous things he had seen since the great flood, the apprentice found himself unable to sleep soundly. He did not particularly want to try again. There was a drip somewhere within the cave that would not quit. He couldn't see a thing. He felt the absense of StarClan in his very bones, and he wished he could be comforted by the presence of his WindClan ancestors. He wondered if Brindlestar was already there. It did not help that he was surrounded by unfamiliar cats, as every Clan had stuffed themselves into the tribe's camp in a desperate bid for sanctuary. Aspenpaw, however, did not want sanctuary. He wanted home. He did not care about the lake that the moor had become; he longed for the wind whistling through the grass as he reached his paws toward the heavens. Like a kit, he wanted to be home. Suddenly, he became aware of himself and let out a little chuckle. Why would I wish to be home, where I'm of no use to anybody?

The youthful tom felt the deep, sinking loneliness of a starless sky, a dark cave, an empty resolve. His dreams haunted his memory, reminding him of his shortcomings. At every turn, he was a coward. A non-combatant. A weakling and a stick in the mud. He glanced around in the dull light at his denmates: all strong, capable, and formidable cats. His inferiority stung like a disturbed wasp, and, indeed, Aspenpaw had been disturbed. As he rose to his paws and maneuvered around sleeping cats, he thought of all the lives he might have saved if he had not remained frozen to the spot when the dogs attacked his clan. His mind drifted to Frozenpaw, and he shut his eyes tight as pain racked his body. The line between physical and emotional had been blurred for him. There was no headache without heartache, no thorn in paw without grief heavy enough to crush a squirrel's head. Truly, he couldn't know for certain what would happen when he returned to the forest. How could he continue to be a warrior? How could Finchstar allow him to receive his name? Surely he must have seen that Aspenpaw was impossible to train! He couldn't chase a rabbit halfway across a grassy field without being winded, much less defend any defenseless cat! Though he tried to make do and get through each patrol with something to show for himself, he still felt like a leech, a parasite.

Finally out into the fresh evening air, Aspenpaw stretched out his hind legs. It was far too cramped for his long, spider-like limbs. With all things dark and dreary on his mind, he allowed himself the small happiness of a good breath of fresh air. Seeing Finchstar enjoying the sunset, calling him to his side, reminded him that not everything was different these days. He took a seat on his left and gazed pensively out at the mountain range before them. Finchstar's question shocked the grey tabby, though he supposed it shouldn't have been too surprising. Nobody seemed to have a clue what to do... not even the leaders of the clans.

A kitlike smile of mischief crossed his muzzle. "Well, with the knowledge that the fate of WindClan rests in your small, inexperienced paws, I suppose we all could launch ourselves off this cliff." Aspenpaw bumped the ginger's shoulder playfully, trying to break the dreadful gloom that hung over their heads. Though he knew nothing could erase the terror they both felt in their bones, he knew the last thing Finchstar needed was to harp on it. "This flood can't last forever. There's no prey at Highstones for the dogs to stay very long. I guess that eventually we have to go back. We'll pick up the pieces and start over." As far out as he looked, it filled him with worry to know that he couldn't see the forest. Hopefully there are pieces to pick up at all.

Aspenpaw studied his mentor's face. The grief he felt for those who had been lost was reflected, mirrored between the two toms. The apprentice wondered if they were perhaps one in the same. "Who are you thinking about?"

Aspenpaw's comment made Finchstar chuckle, a light, fluttery thing that felt good. How long had it been since he had laughed? A real, genuine laugh? The smile graced the leader's face so easily, and he let it. Dusk had fallen, and with it, the sense of seriousness. The cliffs below were no longer lit by hues of red, but instead, subtle tones of blue, calming, serene. Aspenpaw's presence felt good. Another figure beside Finchstar to speak, and react. The gray tabby apprentice felt loss just as the leader did, shared experiences of pain and fear. His input was much valued, an honorable tom, one to fill the lonely void that tore at Finchstar's heart.

It was a hard mask to wear. The orange tabby tom kept a face of wit, and intelligence. He was brave in trials, and in the face of death, spoke "not today." But underneath, Finchstar was crumbling. He was more than the sarcastic shell that encased him, and while the tom wanted to believe he could be composed solely of bravery and honor, there was more to it. He was also scared, and doubtful. Lonely, and lost. A few moons back, and Finchstar would have loved to traverse the mountains, loved to see the culture and lives of the Tribe cats. But the tom was here against his will, and the whimsy of adventure seemed to be torn away, replaced by the starkness of it all. Cats had died farther down the mountain, and others probably faced the same fate, somewhere in this distant world. Finchstar's blind optimism sheltered him from it all. How had he been so stubborn? Even watching as Frozenpaw and Shellpaw died, and the leader was incapable of shedding them a thought. He didn't want to register defeat, couldn't admit it to himself.

But words of wisdom floated through the air. Aspenpaw's logic was sound, and what he had spoken sounded like just as good of a plan as any. I'll have to make him a warrior once this is all over... Finchstar thought, ignoring the possibility that perhaps this flood would never end. Curiously, the orange and white tabby shot Aspenpaw a glance, wondering about the tom. Yes, his apprentice was smart, and intelligent, but perhaps the gray tabby opted for a different fate. Whatever it was, who was Finchstar to deny him his dreams? Whatever Aspenpaw chose to pursue, the leader would be sure to honor it. "That's a good idea, 'paw." Finchstar crooned, watching the starry sky with a sly, but lonely smile. "Things will certainly be different once we return..."

The two toms sat in silence for a while, watching the stars. The amount of thinking and processing in the air was so prominent, it could be cut with a claw. Both Aspenpaw and Finchstar seemed to be mulling over the struggles of the world, watching it from their overhead perch. A long sigh escaped the leader's maw, and his apprentice seemed to have heard it too. "Who are you thinking about?"

Oh, what a question. The gravity of it made Finchstar's brow crease with the weight. "Brookclover…" He said simply, longingly. "True love..." His voice drifted off into the wind, and Finchstar let it blow through his fur, feeling somewhat lighter. Perhaps speaking of his very lifeblood would lift the weight off his chest. "She was one of the cats swept away by the waves. I wish to go and find her, but fate has brought me here." What was "here?" Perhaps Finchstar was speaking of his leadership, or maybe in a more literal aspect; the mountains. It was easy to speak honestly with Aspenpaw, he was grateful for the tom's presence, and letting Brookclover's name drift from his maw felt right.

Another silence settled after Finchstar's words, but it was a comfortable quiet, not an awkward one. The tom found himself glancing at his apprentice, proud to be able to quest alongside him. He was a friend that wouldn't be forgotten, a strong soul in this stormy world. "What will you do when we return home?" Finchstar's voice was tinged with curiosity, his tone lifting at the end to signify his interest. We will return home, it's only fate.

Aspenpaw grinned widely, feeling a surge of giddy happiness for Finchstar. Genuine love was a little more difficult for him to express. He kept to himself, lest he embarrass himself or say the wrong thing. He regretted closing himself off to his denmates. He remembered all the nights he spent dreaming with his eyes open, speaking to nobody but the stars. Grousepaw, Gingerpaw, Echopaw were apprentices he had grown up around. How many conversations had he really had with any of them? These thoughts were further agitated by the memory of Frozenpaw. They had just left her behind...

The leader's question made him flinch a little. He was quite enjoying one thing about the flood. There was no discussion of ceremonies or assessments or skills or training while they were all stranded in the mountains. There was no talk of insecurity, no talk of providing for the kits and elders. His clan was a clan of love and loyalty, tightly bonded like the endless tunnels in a complex maze. He felt like the tunnel with the weakest roof, ready to cave in at the slightest hint of pressure. The whole system, flooded or blocked or doomed due to lack of air, all because he couldn't keep his act together for long enough to save his own life, much less somebody else's. What was the problem? Why couldn't he fight? No wind, sea, or fire could move him if he stood still in fear. A wusspuss was all that he was. It was an embarrassment. He envisioned the warrior name in his mind: Aspenmouse, for his feeble heart and short breath. As his chest tightened in spite of himself, he pondered the question. What will you do?

The apprentice was silent for a long time. Too long for a natural pause, in fact, as Aspenpaw's usual silences meant he was warming up for a sardonic comment. This time was different. Instead of jesting about rabbits or she-cats or apprenticeship, he dropped his head and quietly wept.

"I don't know."

Finchstar smiled at Aspenpaw's words. "I don't know." The leader had been naïve to think even his own apprentice would have knowledge of what was to come. The orange and white tabby certainly couldn't see the future. It was all he really could do, to look deep into the night that had fallen on the mountains... and dream. There was no use in planning ahead, no value in imagining the future. It would seem strange, almost, to override the memories of those lost, and build a life without them. What would WindClan camp be without Brindlestar? Without Quailfeather? Frozenpaw? Shellpaw? The list went on. If anything, Finchstar knew one thing was certain. He would not return to WindClan camp without Brookclover. Even once the flood waters subsided, the leader could not bring himself to carry on without her. And thank the stars he didn't need to. She was alive, Cricketstar had told him so.

"It will be strange... to return home without them." Finchstar sighed, yellow eyes gazing at Aspenpaw. He rested his tail over Aspenpaw's back, comforting him, wishing he could whisk his tears away. "I'd weep with you, but I'm afraid my body has lost enough fluids for the moon." His memory flashed back to the dog attack, and the blood that was spilled on the rocks. Finchstar's leg was still sore from where the dog had ravaged him. But he had nine lives, while his friends only had one. He didn't want Briarpaw to waste what few herbs they had on him.

"You're a strong cat, Aspenpaw." Finchstar breathed, removing his tail from his back. "I'm honored to call you my friend." Perhaps it was this kind of love that could rebuild the forest. The love of a friend to a friend. Finchstar wondered if he would ever look Barleytuft in the eyes again and say "thank you..." He wondered if his friend Murkpaw would escape the dreadful waters of the flood. If anything, it gave him hope. Brookclover was no mouseheart. She was alive out there, probably rallying the rest of WindClan's missing behind her. Finchstar's whiskers twitched at the thought. "No one can predict the future, but we'll pad though it all the same. For love. For freedom." He gave Aspenpaw a hopeful glance, eyes moistening with the profoundness of it. "WindClan is forever."